The new commander of British Forces in Afghanistan hears that a Scots regiment has a specialized field hospital that’s producing fantastic results with the injured soldiers. He wants to know what is so special about the place, and arranges a tour.
When the General gets to the ward, it’s full of patients with no obvious sign of injury or illness. He’s perplexed, so he walks up to the first bed and greets the soldier there.
The patient replies:
“Fair fa your honest sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin race,
Aboon them a ye take yer place,
Painch, tripe or thairm,
As langs my airm.”
The General is confused, so he just smiles and moves on and speaks to the next patient.
That soldier responds:
“Some hae meat an canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat an we can eat,
So let the Lord be thankit.”
Even more confused, the Commander moves on to the next patient, who immediately begins to chant:
“Wee sleekit, cowerin, timorous beasty,
O the panic in thy breasty,
Thou needna start awa sae hastie,
Wi bickering brattle.”
Now seriously troubled, the General turns to the accompanying doctor and asks, “Is this a psychiatric ward?”
“No, not at all,” replies the doctor. “This is the Serious Burns unit.”